


Come Sail Your Ships Around Me

by GayGirlOfTheGalaxy



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Slow Burn, Victorian-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-28 03:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30133047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayGirlOfTheGalaxy/pseuds/GayGirlOfTheGalaxy
Summary: Zuko's life has been reduced to a business move to solidify his family's trading empire. His fear and anxiety quickly turn to curiosity when he meets his betrothed. A new life on distant shores awaits him, if he can give in to the pull of the current.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came to me as a fever dream listening to Victor's Piano Solo from Corpse Bride, but then for some reason my mind went "but what if it was Sokka and Zuko AND it was Victorian Era Four Nations." And then it morphed into this. Enjoy.

Zuko tugged at the collar, trying to loosen the stiff fabric’s bite against his neck. After a few moments he gave up his futile attempt at finding comfort and let his hand drift back down to his lap. Stillness seemed to envelope the room in a manner more suffocating than his collar and his hand twitched to retrieve the pocket watch from his waistcoat, desperate from some kind of distraction.

He clicked it open and examined the mother-of-pearl face. The watch had been a gift from his Uncle Iroh, acquired during one of his years-long trading expeditions that took him to the far flung reaches of the known world. There he sought out rare spices and teas that could further solidify Ozai Trading Co. as the most dominant trading company of exotic and foreign goods in the Four Nations.

Zuko gently rubbed his thumb over the smooth face and examined the artfully crafted numbers set around the edge. He could feel the delicate hands ticking on, it felt like a tiny heartbeat in his hand. He sighed and snapped it shut. They should almost be here by now. He got up from the overstuffed chair he had been sitting in and stalked to the window, silently cursing that the salon didn’t face the front entrance. Only the rolling hills of the estate stretched before him when he gazed out.

Through the weight of anxiety, fear, and hurt that lay heavy against him there was a twist of curiosity running through his core. They had never received guests from the Water Tribe before at the estate, and the only reference Zuko had was a half-century old encyclopedia which offered dream-like illustrations of intricately decorated blue clothing contrasted against the molten bronze skin that shone like starlight. 

The night after Father had broken the news, Zuko snuck into the library to retrieve the heavy leather bound book, the only one in their vast library that made mention of the Water Tribe. He’d poured over every word back in his room by candle light, desperately trying to sketch some vague outline of what his future would look like.

Azula nearly died of laughter at the announcement. Zuko winced at the scene, forever crystalized in his memory. They had all been seated at the formal dining table in stony silence, the norm for family dinners ever since his Mother had passed. Without looking up from his plate, Father announced Zuko would marry the son of a Water Tribe leader, thus solidifying Ozai Trading Co.’s operation in the South Pole.

Zuko remembered the stunned silence that hung between him and his sister, only to be punctured by Azula’s hysterical shrieks of laughter as the food in his mouth slowly turned to ash.

“But Father,” he finally choked out. “I’m your son, your oldest child, the house, the company...I’ve been studying for years in preparation of taking over as Lord of the estate.” He worked hard to keep his tone steady, even as panic clawed its way up his spine.

“Yes,” his Father replied lazily. “Years of study and your business acumen doesn’t even begin to approach Azula’s intuition. She’s a natural.”

The words seared into Zuko like a slap, because he knew they were true. It all came so easily to Azula, the business management, the trading, the networking and building relationships, Zuko had to study ten times as hard just to be half as good.

It was certainly uncommon, but it was far from unheard of, to have a son of a wealthy family marry out to solidify a business transaction or political move. But it still felt like a cruel betrayal to Zuko. He had done _everything_ his Father had asked and yet, ever since the incident, his Father could hardly stand to look at him. Overnight he’d become a ghost in his own home. Shutout and unwelcomed. 

He’d foolishly thought that if he studied hard and showed Father his potential and dedication that someday he’d be welcomed back. Father would learn to look beyond his disfigurement, a scarlet letter branding his missteps, and see the loyal son that was beneath. 

But his cold clipped words that evening had sent Zuko’s fantasy, which he now realized was far-fetched as best, crashing down. The sight of him was so grotesque that his Father would rather send his only son to the otherside of the world than be forced to look upon him for one more day.

Zuko wasn’t sure how much time elapsed when he finally got a hold of himself long enough to whisper the only question that seemed to matter at this point. “When?”

Ozai neatly wiped his mouth and set his napkin back down on the table, before snapping at the servant behind him to clear his plate. “Next week’s end, they’ve already set sail.”

And with that, the subject was closed. Zuko saw the entire future he had planned for himself, the only one he had even known slowly disintegrate, like sand scattered to the wind. His home, his family, his expectation of becoming Lord of the estate, everything, gone.

Zuko shook himself from the reverie. The next two weeks had passed in a blur. It was amazing that his entire existence could be neatly shoved into two trunks. He wondered idly if he would even have occasion to wear the few Fire Nation clothes the servants had insisted he pack. From what he had gathered from the encyclopedia the climate was vastly different. A waistcoat hardly seemed appropriate.

He desperately wished Uncle Iroh was here. He wouldn’t even have the chance to say goodbye. He wasn’t due back from his current Earth Kingdom expedition for at least another two months. Zuko had sent a letter the day following Father’s pronouncement, but he doubted Iroh would have the opportunity to read it, let alone respond, before his departure.

Zuko closed his eyes and tried to conjure his Uncle’s soothing voice to mind. “ _Zuko, you must be open to the beauty of new possibilities. Like the moon lily that only blooms once, the fragility of an experience must be treasured._ ” Zuko sighed, even as a figment of his imagination his Uncle’s advice remained opaque.

Without his permission, his mind conjured another voice. The slow sly whisper of his sister. The first few days following the news she had kept her distance, but Zuko knew that like a vulture drawn to a rotting corpse, she would eventually descend with the sole goal of exacerbating his pain.

“They’re savages you know,” her bored voice came from the shadows of his room just as he was climbing into bed one night. He would have jumped, but years of Azula sneaking up on him had rendered him immune.

“Is that so?” he replied, voice tired. He knew better to read into Azula’s words. “And how did you come by this information, we have never had formal contact with the Water Tribe.”

“Oh Zuzu, so naive, as usual,” she cooed with mock sweetness. “We may not have formal diplomatic relations with them, but we’re far from the first merchant family to seek out the riches of the south. Ugh, and you know how those stuffy old Lords love to brag about their young exploring expedition at every dinner...or well, you would, if Father ever had you attend.”

Zuko rolled his eyes and made to get into bed. “Goodnight Azula.”

“But Zuzu, don’t you want to know what I’ve heard? What they _do_ down there?”

 _No_. Zuko thought. But, the denial caught on his lips. He was desperate to know anything at this point, there was so little information available to him on the Water Tribe. And while he knew Azula always lied, like a man dying of thirst in the desert, he was desperate for any drop of information.

“It’s simply _prehistoric_ ,” Azula continued in a hushed tone. “They live in huts made out of ice and wear dead animal carcasses for warmth. Lord Tsung told me they make blood sacrifices under the full moon, all jumping around and shrieking in the nude. What do you think, Zuzu? I’m sure a little virgin like you would be perfect for that kind of ceremony. You better hope Father was clear in your proposal, or else who knows what kind of plans your betrothed may have for you.”

Zuko had heard enough.

“Get out Azula!” he snarled and angrily threw his pillow in her direction, which she dodged easily, a cruel smile on her face.

“Mm so much to dream about, sleep well sweet brother.” And with that she was gone.

Zuko tried to push her words from his mind. Azula. Always. Lies. He repeated it over and over to himself like a mantra but she had a way of injecting her poison into his mind with such deft precision he was incapable of escaping the images conjured from her words that polluted his dreams as he fell into fitful sleep that night. 

Zuko tried to focus on the present and shut Azula’s words away as best he could. He wandered absently over to the piano that set back against the windows of the salon. Sunlight streaming in. Slowly he lowered himself down onto the seat. 

His Mother has insisted that both he and Azula be thoroughly trained in the arts. Zuko had treasured each lesson. He found poetry fascinating, painting and drawing, while always a challenge, excited him. But most of all, he loved music, because Mother had taught those lessons herself. 

Azula never had the patience for music. She would plunk out the notes of her sheet music heavily and without rhythm, treating each line as if it was a race. As soon as she had finished the minimum practice she would launch herself from her seat, desperate to go listen to Father’s business dealings through the walls.

Zuko on the other hand would always linger. Pretending to stumble so Mother would have to take extra time to explain a tricky key change or transition. He knew that she saw through his veiled attempts. They both silently played along, some days allowing the lessons to stretch all afternoon. A small smile flickered across Zuko’s face at the memory. Those afternoons in the sun-filled music room with Mother were the happiest he could ever recall.

He softly laid his hand on the ivory keys, closing his eyes he called to mind his mother’s favorite tune. Just a short composition they had written together one afternoon as the light cast long shadows across the room and a low fire crackled in the fireplace. Safe, warm, happy. His body called out for the ghost-like grasp of fleeting comfort the memory offered.

He let out a short breath and started to play, eyes still shut. The music seems to flow through his very veins and spill out on the keys. He felt his heart lift as he approached the bridge that Mother had always relished playing. Just as he reached the crescendo he heard a cough behind him.

His eyes flew open, hand wrenching back from the keys as if electrocuted. In his rush to stand he sent the bench crashing to the ground. He quietly cursed under his breath as he bent down to right the bench.

“Ah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you,” came the voice from somewhere behind him to his right. The stranger’s voice seemed to carry the gentle lith of a playful smile.

Zuko swallowed and angled his body away from the stranger. If he kept his back to him, at least he could prolong the amount of time until the inevitable awkwardness that would ensue the second the other person glimpsed his face. “It’s fine.” he said gruffly after a beat.

“Here, let me…”

There was the sound of footsteps, and Zuko felt someone else grasp the other side of the bench.

“ _Shit_.” Zuko thought to himself. He internally panicked as he kept his eyes steadfastly glued to the bench while he and the stranger righted it, determined to avert his gaze for as long as humanly possible.

It seemed that time was quickly evaporating as silence descended on the two of them. Propriety was shouting at Zuko to thank the man, whoever he was, for helping him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to lift his face. Who even was this person? And why was he in the salon of all places, _unannounced_?

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, but all the pomp and circumstance downstairs just isn’t really for me. Thought I’d go exploring. I couldn’t help but hear your playing. I’m Sokka by the way.”

Zuko had been nodding along, slowly piecing together what the stranger was saying, right until the last sentence threw his mind hurdling off a cliff. _Sokka_. As in the son of the Water Tribe leader he was supposed to marry. 

The realization that his betrothed was about to see his face sent his panic into overdrive. Had Father mentioned his disfigurement? What if his betrothed was so repulsed by his appearance that he demanded the engagement be called off? It would just be one more failure to hang like a millstone around his neck.

Zuko slowly realized that Sokka was staring at him, or at least the top of his head, curiously awaiting his response.

“ _Might as well, it's not like I can delay the inevitable any longer._ ”

Silently Zuko steeled himself. He mentally prepared for the inevitable look of disgust to cross Sokka’s face. The horrified expression everyone had when they beheld his scar for the first time, only for them to quickly look away. Typically the person would try to conceal their repulsion, but it was painfully obvious to Zuko when they would continue on their conversation, eyes fixed squarely on his chest or right ear. 

He slowly looked up. “I’m Zuko,” he replied hesitantly.

He waited, but the anticipated reaction never came. Sokka met his gaze steadily. He didn’t even blink at Zuko’s appearance, instead his smile only seemed to grow until it lit up his entire face.

“Zuko, huh? Well then, I’m even more glad that I wandered into this room.” His smile was blinding. White straight teeth contrasted against his dark smooth skin. 

Hyper-sensitive of what it was like to have someone stare, Zuko tried to maintain eye contact but he couldn’t help letting his gaze sweep over the man in front of him. He had never seen someone like him before.

His skin was deep and rich, it shone like the dark polished amber Uncle Iroh had once brought back from the Outer Fire Islands. His hair was closely cropped on the sides, but the middle was long, and elegantly tied back in a long wolf’s tail. There seemed to be beads and tiny shells weaved throughout his dark shiny braided locks.

Clearly the style of clothing had evolved since the encyclopedia's illustrations. He wore familiar blue tones from the book, but they were styled much more like the proper Fire Nation clothes, however, they were adorned with intricate beading and delicate patterns that resembled the night sky. Zuko suddenly wondered if he had adapted his dress for this specific visit or if this is what he wore all the time.

Zuko looked closer, and he could just make out the dark markings of the edge of a tattoo peeking up above the ruff of Sokka’s collar.

Before Zuko could think of what to say next, Sokka was stepping around him, he seemed to be taking in the different objects on display in the salon with child-like curiosity. He walked up to the large globe in the corner and gave it a gentle spin.

“The weather here is different than I expected. Gotta say I think I could get used to seeing actual greenery as opposed to just endless snowfields. Don’t get my wrong they’re beautiful, it’s just different. Before this trip I’d only ever been to some of the outlying islands.”

Sokka continued to talk, his words coming fast and easy, as he walked around the room picking up different artifacts and setting them down with interest. He commentary came with the uninhibited ease of someone chatting with an old friend as opposed to your heretofore unknown betrothed. 

Zuko didn’t know what to make of him as he watched Sokka continue his exploration of the room with puzzled interest. Belatedly, Zuko realized that Sokka had asked him something, he was so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t heard.

“What was that?” Zuko asked, desperately trying to pull his mind into focus.

“I said, do you play any other instruments?” Sokka skimmed his fingers over the piano keys. His eyes were bright with genuine interest as they pinned Zuko in place.

“Um, yes…” Zuko’s mind was still trying to process that the person in front of him was going to be his husband.

“I also play the zither and erhu, but piano is my favorite. Do you play anything?” he asked, trying to mirror Sokka’s laid back demeanor. The hitch in his voice betrayed his lingering anxiety.

Sokka gave a small huff of laugh and grimaced slightly. “Uh, no, not really. My music teacher thought I was too... _enthusiastic_. Personally I thought she lacked imagination.” He grinned mischievously at Zuko. “I can dance though!” The triumph in his voice was evident.

“Oh, um,” Zuko stuttered. He was still struggling to keep up with Sokka’s mood as he vacillated between slyly playful and genuine.

Before he knew what was happening Sokka was in front of him. He held out his hand to Zuko, which, mostly operating on auto-pilot, Zuko took. Sokka twirled him with a flourish, then drew him close.

“I took the liberty of learning some traditional Fire Nation dances, but I could use some practice with a native. I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of festivities to expect when we arrived.”

Sokka started to lead them in a traditional fire nation waltz, Zuko couldn’t help but follow along. There was something so disarmingly familiar about Sokka. It was almost as if he carried with him his own kind of gravity that Zuko couldn’t help but get caught in.

It caught Zuko off-guard and he felt wrong footed. This wasn’t how he had imagined his meeting going at all. Just as he felt himself start to relax, a tiny bud of hope swelling up in his chest, a familiar voice punctured his mood.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here Zuzu? Isn’t it a bit early to be getting that familiar? And unchaperoned no less. What would Father say?” Azula leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes flashing dangerously.

Before Zuko could make any type of response Sokka was striding over to where Azula stood.

“You must be Zuko’s sister, I’m Sokka. You know, I have a sister about your age. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Sokka offered a blinding grin and a perfectly choreographed bow, holding out his hand to Azula.

Azula surveyed Sokka, eyes quickly flicking over his appearance with a calculated glance before placing her hand in his.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” she said haughtily before dropping his hand and turning to Zuko. “I’ve been sent to collect you for the formal presentation to the Water Tribe delegation. Come along then Zuzu, I’m sure they are eager to see if you meet their _specifications_ ,” she finished with a wicked grin.

Sokka threw Zuko a confused glance.

“Ignore her,” he said quietly as he made his way around Sokka to join Azula at the door. “But it probably would be best if you found your way back.”

Sokka gave him a small smile and dipped his head before slipping out the door and back down the hall.

As soon as he was out of sight Azula grabbed Zuko’s wrist, painfully digging her nails into his flesh.

“Zuko,” she hissed, voice low and threatening. “You know you were supposed to wait until I came to retrieve you. The whole point was to get the Water Tribe delegation to sign on to Father’s trade agreement _before_ they saw you, so they couldn’t renege on the deal when they realized…” Azula let the sentence trail off, eyes darting over Zuko’s scar in disdain, clearly conveying the contour of her statement with her expression.

“What if Sokka goes and demands reconsideration now?” she continued. “Father will be furious, you’ve jeopardized the whole agreement!”

“He didn’t seem to mind,” Zuko said simply as he jerked his arm away from Azula's death grip and began walking down the hall.

Azula rolled her eyes and trailed after him. “Right, I’m sure.”

His initial brush with Sokka was enough to keep his mind off whatever petty insults Azula continued to hurl his way as they made it down to the formal sitting room. The small flame of curiosity he had felt this morning had now grown, crowding out all the other competing emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Would you read more of this?


	2. Chapter 2

Under normal circumstances the marriage send-off of a Lord’s son would have been the society event of the season. The occasion called for a lavish party with music, dancing, decadent meals, performances by traditional artists, all culminating with a tearful goodbye on behalf of the family while a fantastic firework display unfolded overhead. 

And while his Father rarely missed an occasion to flaunt his vast wealth, Zuko had accepted that his situation was far from normal. And therefore, wasn’t disappointed at the solemn, borderline awkward affair that would be his final send-off from the only place he had ever called home.

Azula and Zuko joined their Father just as the guests were being shown to the formal dining room. Zuko took a seat to his Father’s left, while Azula took the right. The table had been extended to almost a comical length, making small talk with their guests over dinner an impossibility.

Sokka had rejoined the five other members of the Water Tribe delegation, who now sat at the opposite end of the table. The imposing man who sat at the head, mirroring Ozai’s place, must have been their leader, and by extension Sokka’s father. Upon closer inspection Zuko could see the resemblance between Sokka and the man, especially around the eyes. Which, while now serious, still held the same lightness that suggested laughter was more common than scorn.

Just like Sokka, the rest of the Water Tribe was outfitted in clothing that resembled formal Fire Nation fashion, with the exception of the fabric choice, which was a rich multitude of blues. In addition to the intricate beading Sokka’s suit sported, his father’s suit seemed also to be lined with soft white fur trim and delicate white feathers.

His hair was longer than Sokka’s and styled in thick braided coils that had all manner of ornaments interwoven. Hints of silver thread glinted amongst some of the braids, as shells and delicately shaped pieces of seaglass and bone softly clinked against one another whenever he turned his head. 

Zuko was struck by the fascinating incongruence of their appearance. The prim and proper clothing of the Fire Nation, which seemed designed solely to restrain the wearer. To make each person who wore the clothing conform to the same exacting standard of sharp lines and perfectly tailored cuts. It contrasted with the eclectic, borderline wild, style of Water Tribe hair. 

As Zuko’s eyes shifted to the other members of the Water Tribe delegation he realized each hairstyle was vastly unique. Some had long braided locks, others had partially shaved heads like Sokka. Zuko thought a small treasure chest could likely be filled by their combined hair ornaments. And while there was an overall cohesion in the elements of the style, each wearer sported a look that was undeniably their own.

Zuko’s eyes slid back to the leader. Hakoda, his mind belatedly provided. Even sitting in somber silence, he commanded the room. However, it was markedly different from the way his own Father did. Ozai seemed to singe the very air with fear and distaste that emanated off him like roiling heat waves. Demanding obedience or else. In contrast, Hakoda had a quiet ease about him, yet his presence was magnetic all the same.

The meal commenced in silence. As the dishes were brought in from the kitchen Zuko felt tears prick behind his eyes. The chef had made all of his favorites. Chunks of lamb dry rubbed with spices and aged in a smoke cellar, prepared with dandelion heads and peas. Tiny cornish hens marinated in mulled spiced wine and baked until golden brown served on a bed of ginger ground potatoes. Eight treasure soup that smelled of white pepper, the rich cloudy broth indicating days of stewing. Flaky phyllo dough molded into the shape of a wild hare and stuffed with minced rabbit and caramelized root vegetables. The more plates that appeared the less hungry Zuko felt.

As the aromas washed over him, it struck Zuko that this was likely the last time he would ever smell these particular delicacies. The last time he would have the opportunity to eat his favorite meals. The last time he would sit at this table. The last time, the last time, the last time...His head spun and he had to dig his nails into the palm of his hands under the table to keep himself from passing out.

Just has his panic threatened to consume him he heard someone clear their throat. His head snapped up. The leader of the Water Tribe stood. How much time had passed? Zuko had lost track.

Holding his glass aloft Hakoda said, “To the union of our sons. And the prosperity of our people.”

Ozai lifted his glass in return from the other end of the table, not bothering to stand. “To prosperity,” he replied in a monotone.

It wasn’t lost on Zuko that his Father didn’t acknowledge the first part of the toast.

“And now my son has something to present to Zuko.” He gestured to Sokka, who stood and produced a small leather pouch from somewhere. 

Zuko found Sokka’s eyes, which were already looking at him, smiling. Zuko tried to return the gesture but he was fairly sure the result was more of a grimace than a smile, as he saw Sokka’s expression waiver slightly.

“Well Sokka, go on.” Hakoda patted Sokka on the shoulder and shoved him gently in Zuko’s direction.

Sokka came around to the other side of the table. His footsteps were the only noise in the entire room. Zuko wished powerfully at that moment that his Father would have at least sprung for a musician to play during dinner, the overwhelming silence was suffocating. 

Sokka stopped just behind Zuko’s chair. Zuko twisted around to look at him. They stared for a moment, both seemingly unaware of what to do next.

Zuko started to rise just as Sokka moved to put his hand lightly on his shoulder to keep him in place.

“Ha, uh, you can stay seated. It’ll be easier that way.”

Zuko gave him an even more confused look, but sunk back down into his chair.

Sokka fiddled with the pouch. It was then that Zuko realized he was nervous. The confident ease he had exuded in the salon seemed to have slipped beneath the surface as his movements gave away a slight angst. Slowly he unwrapped the pouch to reveal a necklace.

He took it out and placed it in Zuko’s outstretched hand, which he didn’t even remember raising.

“It’s a traditional Water Tribe betrothal necklace,” he heard someone say distantly. But Zuko could hardly hear them. 

His full attention was pulled to the artistry in front of him. The necklace consisted of four large flat bone beads, that had been worked until silky smooth to the touch. The beads acted as a canvas, and each held intricate carvings, the line work so fine Zuko could hardly believe they were made by the human hand. 

Some of the carvings had dark black or red in-lays, making certain lines stand out starkly against the otherwise alabaster background. Zuko tried to take in the delicate scene. There seemed to be flames interwoven with cresting waves from the ocean, twisting together until they became one, neither fire nor water, but something else.

“It’s beautiful,” Zuko whispered.

“Thanks,” Sokka replied sheepishly.

The voice made Zuko jump. He was so enamoured with studying every detail of the necklace he had momentarily forgotten where he was. He looked up to see all eyes glued to him, before looking back up to Sokka, who was beaming, all nervousness seemingly forgotten.

“You made this?” Zuko asked. Sokka nodded.

“May I?” He held out his hand for Zuko to return the necklace. Zuko handed it back slowly and instantly stiffened as Sokka brushed his hair away from his neck.

“Do you mind if I loosen your collar a bit, I don’t think I can get it on otherwise,” Sokka said from behind him.

Zuko gave a jerky nod. He hadn’t been expecting Sokka to actually put the necklace on him.

A second later Zuko felt Sokka’s warm fingers on the side of his neck and instantly froze. He focused on continuing to breath and steadfastly ignoring Azula’s gaze, even though he could feel her taunting glare searing into him.

Sokka’s hands were calloused and rough, and yet his touch was still gentle as he deftly loosened the ruff of Zuko’s collar. He gently brushed aside Zuko’s hair again, sending a shiver all the way down his spine, which Zuko fought to gain control over.

“Tell me if it’s too tight,” Sokka whispered in his ear. His warm breath tickled Zuko’s skin in a way that he was utterly unprepared for. It felt like his entire body was thrumming with a kind of hardly contained energy that Sokka had somehow ignited with his proximity. 

“It’s fine.” Zuko cleared his throat and desperately tried to regain control of his thoughts. “It’s fine, thank you.”

He felt Sokka tie off the leather strips that acted as the claps before stepping away and retreating to his seat at the otherside of the table, but not before shooting Zuko one more bashful grin.

Zuko lifted his hand to his neck and ran his fingers over the choker which now adorned it. It felt foreign and strange. And yet, somehow less oppressive than the stiff bite of his collar he had come to expect everyday.

“Splendid.” Ozai’s bored monotone punctured Zuko’s thoughts. And without missing another beat, raised a tiny bell. 

The moment it rang servants streamed from the kitchen, quickly clearing away all remnants of the meal. Zuko looked down at his plate, only to belatedly notice he had hardly eaten a thing. He felt his stomach lurch when he realized he had no idea when or where or even  _ what _ his next meal would be. 

It was all hurdling to a close, this was it. This was the end. In a few short moments dinner would end. They would rise. Perhaps a few more words would be exchanged and then Zuko would leave with the Water Tribe. His trunks had likely already been loaded onto the Water Tribe’s carriage during dinner. While Zuko had known this was exactly how this night would unfold, now that it was upon him he felt paralyzed with panic.

Zuko registered the scraping of chairs as everyone around the table got to their feet.  _ Oh God, oh God, oh God _ . Zuko stayed glued in place. This wasn’t happening, how could this be happening?

“Zuko.” His eyes snapped to his Father’s face. He wasn’t looking at him, but it was clear he was addressing him, “A word in my office before you embark?” It was phrased as a question, but it was far from a request.

“Azula, kindly entertain our guests for a few moments.” Even the tone he used with Azula was different.

Azula’s cool and disinterested gaze brightened instantly as she slipped on the mask of a master host. “Of course, Father,” she said sweetly before turning to engage with the Water Tribe delegation. 

Zuko silently stood and followed his Father as he retreated from the room. The fear of disobedience outweighing his growing panic.

He closed the door of his Father’s office gently, and lingered in the threshold. His Father hardly ever invited him in here anymore, and yet the room remained unchanged. It was neatly kept with dark polished furniture, an imposing lacquered desk, and maps covering three of the four walls. The only evidence of the passage of time was the movement of the tiny pins on the map, indicating Ozai Trading Co. ever expanding outposts and operation bases.

His Father did not invite him to sit, nor did he acknowledge him further as he strode up to his desk and silently opened one of the drawers. He withdrew a thin envelope, sealed with the Ozai Trading Co. brand in wax. He walked back towards where Zuko stood, holding the envelope out for him to take. 

“Do not disappoint me.” And with that he was gone. 

Zuko ran his hand slowly over the envelope, unsure of what he should do next. Did his Father intend for him to open and read it now, or later? Considering that he had left him alone in his office, Zuko hazard a guess that he was supposed to read the contents now.

He gently broke the seal and withdrew the letter, which was written in his Father’s perfect script. It was less of a letter and more of a memo.

_ The trading charter we have entered into with the Water Tribe is but a precursor to Ozai Trading Co.’s true intent. The handcrafts, herbs, and foodstuffs are of little interest to me. The true value of the South lies in the extensive mineral reserves lurking just below the frozen surface. Ozai Trading Co. must obtain exclusive rights to these vast mineral reserves. _

_ The charter signed today is a conditional one, set to expire in due time. Upon its expiration a new charter will be negotiated, in which mineral rights must be included. Ozai Trading Co. will then be able to set up full mining operations in the South and our trading supremacy will never again be questioned. _

_ You must ensure the inclusion of mineral rights in the trading charter when it is renegotiated. The Water Tribe is weak and backwards. They do not understand the wealth they sit atop. It is best if an educated organization, such as ourselves, extracts that wealth and puts it to good use.  _

_ You are to correspond directly with your sister regarding any updates. This is an opportunity to prove your business acumen and place in Ozai Trading Co. Successfully oversee the expansion of our charter, and you will be welcomed home as Lord of the estate. _

Zuko re-read the letter two more times before folding it and neatly slipping it back into the envelope, tucking it into his breast pocket. This was it. The chance he’d always dreamed of. The opportunity to prove to his Father that he was the dutiful son he’d always strived to me.

His Father wasn’t sending him away. This was a test. His final trial before assuming Lordship. Succeed and he would be welcomed back with open arms.

Zuko looked around the office again. This didn’t have to be the last time he looked upon it. In fact, this could all be his. His prayers had finally been answered, the dreams of his future were not as far out of his grasp as he had first imagined when news of his betrothal broke.

_ “I will make you proud, Father.” _ Zuko said to himself. Fists clenching by his side.  _ “No matter what it takes, I will make you proud.” _

As he turned to go, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror overhanging the fireplace adjacent to the door. And for the first time in seven years, instead of his gaze going directly to the scar that marred the right side of his face, his eyes were instantly drawn to the intricately detailed choker, the gentle pressure around this throat reminding him of its presence.

Unbidden, warm blue eyes and a blinding smile swam before his eyes. The phantom feeling of Sokka’s hands ghosting gently over his neck raised goosebumps on his flesh before Zuko could shove the feeling down.

_ “No,” _ he thought. Sokka was not his future. His future was here, in this room. So long as he could stay focused.

And with that, he smothered the gentle flame that had ignited in his breast the moment he laid eyes on Sokka. Stamping out all remaining light-hearted feelings of curiosity. He had a job to do.  _ “I must regain my honor.” _


End file.
